The Formation of Planets
by 96 Hubbles
Summary: A life-changing discovery about two team members comes to light.
1. Chapter 1

**The Formation of Planets**

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David Rossi did not believe in premonitions - in fact, he had a distinct skepticism against those who did - but when the phone rang with the call that would forever change his life, for some reason what he remembered most clearly was how his mind immediately flashed to his ex-brother-in-law and the man's strange reaction to a very minor incident.

"Good morning. May I please speak to Mr. David Rossi?"

"Speaking."

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_He had met Russell on the steps outside the main Post Office downtown. His brother-in-law had long since retired from his career as a mailman but still occasionally popped in to see old friends and Dave had run into him just as he was leaving after picking up a package._

_. _

"My name is Karen Hughes. I'm the senior partner of Hughes, McCauley and Broadbent." Then there was the briefest pause, something so insignificant that someone not trained as a profiled wouldn't have picked up on it. "I'm afraid that before I go any further, Mr. Rossi," Ms. Hughes continued, "I will need to verify a few things in order to be certain I'm speaking with the right person. These things will involve a few questions that may be of a painful and personal nature, but I assure you there is a point. Do you mind?"

.

_He and Russell had agreed to go for coffee; they hadn't seen each other since Carolyn's funeral and he'd been eager to catch up and hear the news about Russ's sons, whom he still thought of as his nephews. Lo and behold, picking up a double espresso at the counter of the nearest Starbucks had been Spencer Reid._

_._

"May I ask what this is about, Ms. Hughes?"

There it was again - a hesitation. Rossi raised an eyebrow.

"It's a rather delicate matter, Mr. Rossi - one I'm dealing with mainly as a favour to a friend - and before I go into it, I would like to make sure you _are_ the David Rossi I am looking for."

"Understood."

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_There was no reason for the incident to stand out. He had made the introductions, Reid had said hello and the two colleagues had made innocuous small talk for a few moments before Reid apologized and explained that he was already late meeting Garcia and Morgan and he had to rush off. After nodding warmly to Russell and telling him how glad he was to have met him, Reid had left. Chuckling at Russell's slightly wide eyes and exclamation of '_Doctor_ Reid?', he had started off on the standard response - 'Yeah, I know, he doesn't look old enough to - " when Russell had surprised him by interrupting with something entirely different:_

_"He's the spitting image of my father!"_

_._

Rossi, dwelling on why in Heaven's name such an inconsequential memory would force itself on him now, nearly missed Ms. Hughes' question.

"Are you David Joseph Rossi, ex-husband of Carolyn Elizabeth Rossi, nee Matheson?"

It was amazing how mental alarm bells could focus the mind, Rossi thought, even when you had no clue as to why they were going off. He tensed instantly, all attention now fully on the voice coming at him over the phone, all other thoughts and inexplicable memories banished and forgotten as if they'd never been there. "Yes," he said warily, "Carolyn was my wife."

"I apologize again for any distress this might cause, but I take it then that you are the father of her son, James David Rossi, born in Commack, Long Island, at Our Lady of Mercy Hospital on October 13, 1981?"*

A flare of hostility sparked in David Rossi's stomach; of course what happened to James was not this woman's fault, but no one could take kindly to some stranger poking at their rawest wounds. "I was, yes," he replied with some terseness.

"Would you be willing to come to our offices tomorrow at 10:00 am? There is a grave matter concerning your son's birth that needs to be discussed."

"Ma'am, I don't know what this is, but my son only lived a matter of hours. He's been dead and gone for years now. What possible 'grave matter' concerning him could be worth dredging up now?"

"It has to do with some irregularities at the hospital at around that time period. I'm afraid I cannot say anything more over the phone. Will you please agree to meet with us?"

_"Irregularities?"_ Dave repeated sharply, "What are you saying? Are you trying to tell me James's death wasn't natural? That it was an accident or a medical screw-up? What the hell is going on?"

"Mr. Rossi - "

"God, was it foul play? Are you telling me someone may have done something to my boy?"

"Mr. Rossi, you need to hear the whole story - "

"So tell it to me! Look, lady, you can't just call me up out of the blue over thirty years later and imply my baby's death may have been questionable and then expect me to wait an entire day before telling me what this is all about!"

"_Please,_ Mr. Rossi," Ms. Hughes said firmly, but kindly, "Ten a.m. tomorrow."

Rossi rubbed a hand over tired eyes. He took a few deep breathes and sat down at his kitchen table before finally saying, "_Fine._ Do I need a lawyer?"

"I don't believe so, at least not at the present time. However, you are more than free to bring one if you wish."

"All right." He reached for a pen and grabbed a paper napkin in the absence of a notepad. "Just give me the address."

She did so, directing him to the top floor of a high end office building not far from the Lincoln Memorial, and then - after a distracted goodbye - Rossi hung up on her. He immediately jabbed a finger on the top name of his speed dial list.

"Aaron? Listen, I need a favour."

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_*I know this is not James Rossi's DOB as given on the show. I've purposely changed the year and date to fit the plot of the story. Also, I don't really know anything about Washington and what may or may not be around the Lincoln Memorial, but feel free to correct me if I've made an egregious mistake._

_Author's note: Most of you have probably guessed where this plot is going by now. I won't spoil it for those who haven't, but I will say I almost didn't post this simply because there are at least two other (very excellent) stories with the same premise out there right now. However, in the end I couldn't resist. There's something about this idea that I can't help but love and so I had to jump in too. (I don't know why I love it, it's extremely soap-opera-y and if they did it on the show it would be an utter jumping-the-shark moment, but there it is.) But I will try to make it as different as I can. _

_Anyway, I don't have much plot mapped out beyond the premise, in fact I don't know if this story will end up as one whole piece with a cohesive storyline flowing through or a series of one-shots connected by the main premise. Personally, the "discovery" is less important to me than the after effects, but we'll see I guess, because once more I am jumping right in without plot or future chapters written. I'm winging it, my sweets, so here's hoping it doesn't turn into a train wreck! _


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

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"Reid?"

Striding down the tastefully done hallways of Hughes, McCauley and Broadbent, David Rossi whipped around at Aaron's voice to see Spencer Reid sitting in a gold and tan chair just outside the very door he and Aaron had been looking for. "What the hell are you doing here, Reid?" he growled without meaning to.

Reid raised a slightly worried eyebrow at his colleague's short-temper and turned to his boss instead. "I...uh... Well, truthfully, I don't know. I received a call yesterday asking me if I could come here to discuss a family matter. I thought maybe it had something to do with my father, but I haven't really got anything to base that on. Anyway, the secretary down the hall told me to wait here."

Hotch sat down next to him. "Did anyone come with you? Did you think to arrange for representation?"

Reid blinked. "Do I _need_ representation?"

"Well, that's the point, Reid - you don't know," Hotch explained. "It can be a good idea to - "

"Reid," Dave interrupted, "what time is your appointment?"

"Ten," Reid replied.

"And it's for here?" Dave asked, nodding to the nameplate on the door reading 'Conference Room 3'.

"Yes," Reid said. "I'm a little confused - do you two know what's going on?"

Dave looked to Aaron, at a loss to explain this new development. Hotch appeared just as puzzled.

"Reid, your birthday is in October, isn't it?" Hotch asked.

"Uh...yeah, the ninth."

"And it was in 1981?"

"Yes."

"But it couldn't be the same thing," Dave put in. "How would irregularities at a hospital in Long Island affect him? He wasn't born there." He turned to Reid, "You weren't, were you, Kid?"

Reid shook his head. "No. Vegas. At least, that's what it states on my birth certificate."

"Then it can't be related," Rossi said.

"Related to what?" Reid wanted to know, irritation with the increasing mysteriousness of his whole morning beginning to grow.

Hotch was about to explain when the door to the conference room opened and a blonde, very professionally dressed middle-aged woman stepped through to greet them. She turned to Reid first, "Doctor Spencer Reid?"

Reid raised a hand and gave his usual shy wave. The woman then turned and looked questioningly between the two older men. "Mr. Rossi?"

Dave stepped forward; there was no smile on his face, but he managed to shake her hand politely enough. "This is Aaron Hotchner," he said, gesturing towards his friend. "He's here as my representative."

"I'm pleased to meet all of you. I'm Karen Hughes. I spoke to both of you yesterday. Well, now that everyone is here, shall we proceed?"

"Everyone?" Dave asked, a touch surprised. He'd naturally assumed that any 'irregularities' at a hospital would have had to at least gone on long enough for several families to be affected.

"Yes, the other party concerned is already inside," Ms. Hughes informed them.

"If I may, Ms. Hughes, before we go in, could you perhaps explain how this matter involves both of my agents?" Hotchner asked.

Ms. Hughes stopped and turned around. "I'm sorry, both of your...? You and Mr. Rossi know Doctor Reid?"

"Yes. I'm their Unit Chief at the Behavioural Analysis Unit at Quantico."

"Good heavens, I certainly didn't see that coming! I was aware of where Mr. Rossi worked, but since we obtained Doctor Reid's address from his father - "

"So it does involve him. I should have known," Reid snapped, pushing past the other three into the conference room. Rossi and Hotch, following quickly on his heels, noticed he showed no sign of recognizing the thick-shouldered man sitting with a series of files in front of him, but the dark-haired man near the window stopped him cold.

"Hello, Dad."

-x-

The confrontation which followed, filled with accusations, demands for answers, and futile pleas for calm, was only kept from ending with one or more parties storming off thanks to Aaron Hotchner pulling both of his subordinates aside, each at different times, and reminding them they would get no answers if they didn't at least listen.

Finally, everyone was seated at the table. Reid was closest to the door and no one was quite sure if the man wasn't still going to bolt, but for the moment he appeared to have got himself under enough control to remain. Coffee and Danishes were brought in, but no one reached for them and after a very uncomfortable eternity, William Reid looked at his son. "Spencer..."

Reid was quiet, but he refused to meet his father's gaze.

"Spencer," William Reid began again, "You have every right to be angry with me. I know I haven't returned any of the letters you've written me since the Riley Jenkins case - "

"Please tell me this little stage production isn't payback for the accusation I made at that time," Reid said coolly.

"No, no, Spencer...this isn't...how could you think that?"

"Why is Rossi here, then? Is it because he was with me then? What story did you use to drag him here?"

"Spencer, please let me tell my story," William Reid pleaded. "Everything will make sense in the end."

Reid said nothing, but the bleakness around his eyes got through even to Rossi, who was caught up in his own pain and confusion. Still, the young man gave a small nod for his father to go on.

"As I was saying," William Reid continued, "Spencer, you have every right to be angry with me, and I wish more than anything that the story I have to tell wasn't going to hurt you more, but I can't. What I have to say is likely going to cause you the most pain out of anyone here, but it can't be helped. I wish I could have at least told you separately, but it involves..." The elder Reid sighed, "Well, hopefully you will be able to understand once I'm done."

Reid senior turned to face the table at large. "It's a very long story, so it would be for the best if everyone could listen to the whole thing before they start asking questions." They watched as he took a deep breath, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment as if he were in pain, and then he began. "I suppose I should begin with Christopher."

"Christopher?" Reid asked and Rossi felt himself sympathizing at the lost tone in his younger colleague's voice. People always seemed to know when their lives were about to be changed forever; you could almost see their shields coming up before you'd even opened your mouth, and yet both you and they knew those shields would never be strong enough to keep the storm outside, because at that exact same moment, you could also sense them breaking.

"Your mother and I had a child before you were born," William Reid told his son. "His name was Christopher. But there were complications. He died after only three days and... and the doctors told us your mother would never be able to have another child."

Dave watched as his young friend wrapped his arms around his chest. For a few moments, the desperation, the absolute overwhelming need for this not to be going where every person at that table knew it was, was painfully visible on the man's stricken face. But then it was replaced with a cold, inward stare and a rigid jaw as Spencer Reid's determined inner walls came up.

"Spencer, there's no easy way to tell you this, but you were adopted."

Reid chuckled bitterly. "No easy way to tell me this? So obviously the next best solution was to jump right to doing it in a lawyer's office in front of my co-workers and two complete strangers?" Aaron put a comforting hand on Reid's arm, but the younger agent shook it off. "No! Just...just don't. I'm sorry, Hotch, I know it's not your fault, but just don't touch me right now, all right?"

Hotch nodded in understanding. Meanwhile, Reid looked longingly at the door, but still managed to address his father with some composure. "Is this the real explanation for why you left? Now that I know, am I supposed to feel all better? Should I forgive you and say, 'It's all right. I understand. After all, it's not as though I'm your _real_ child.' Is that the scenario you were hoping for?"

William Reid looked down, staring briefly at the dark wood of the conference room table. The spring sun shone cheerfully through the window, creating an atmosphere utterly at odds with the dramatic scene playing out inside. After some moments, the elder Reid went on as if his son hadn't spoken. "Two years after Christopher's death, a young woman came to work as a clerk at my law firm. Her name - or at least the one she gave us - was Janine Rutherford. One day, roughly eight months after she started, I caught her crying in the supply closet after hours. She was distraught, even panicked, so I offered to drive her home.

"I know what that must sound like - even at the time I was aware that I was possibly placing myself in what could later be construed as a compromising position - but I swear nothing happened between us. What did happen was that she confessed to me that she was in trouble.

"You have to understand - thirty-three years ago unwed mothers didn't have it like they do today. Perhaps they didn't get locked up in Catholic girls' homes like they had twenty years earlier, but bearing an illegitimate child still carried a significant stigma, especially in the professional world. Janine would have lost her job - even with the laws protecting her, a conservative old boys' firm like the one I worked for at the time would have found some reason for letting her go - and single women with children had a very hard time even later on, after the children were born, in developing any kind of professional career.

"So the solution to both of our problems seemed obvious: she didn't want the child and Diana and I did. We had already talked of adoption, but Diana was hesitant. I didn't know it at the time, but she was beginning to suspect her mood swings might be more than simple depression over Christopher, and she worried that that might keep any adoption agency from letting us have a child.

"Therefore, private adoption looked like the best answer for all of us. Legally, it simplified things. With Janine appointing us as guardians and choosing us specifically to be the adoptive parents spared us some of the intensive investigations most parents in that situation go through. There were some problems when Janine refused to tell us who the father of the child was, but back then that wasn't as much of an obstacle as it is now.

"As the months went on, the three of us grew very friendly with one another. Janine was intelligent and well-spoken and had a degree in English Literature. She and Diana developed an almost sisterly relationship. I had arranged for Janine to have some time off work once she started showing, but if any of our friends had learned what was going on, her giving us the baby would have seemed quite natural by then."

Something in William Reid's demeanour changed then. "You have to believe something - there was nothing at the time to suggest that this was anything other than a completely over-board adoption. Yes, it was private, but to our minds it wasn't any different from a teenage girl letting an older, married sister raise an unexpected child. People had been doing similar things for time out of mind. And Janine _was_ pregnant. She let both Diana and I put our hands on her abdomen numerous times in order to feel the baby kick. We had no reason to suspect..."

William Reid took a deep breath and when he started speaking once more, he had changed tack. "The trouble started when Janine was eight months along. She simply took off. Diana and I were frantic, and not just for the baby, though he or she was our primary concern. We searched everywhere for Janine; I even hired a detective who occasionally did some work for the firm, but there was nothing.

"Then, three weeks or so after the baby had been due, she was back. She showed up on our doorstep one night with a baby in her arms. There were no explanations, no excuses. She told us the baby was ours, but there was a condition now. We had to give her $50,000."

A hushed voice came from the other end of the table. "You _bought_ me?"

William Reid nodded. "She wouldn't tell us what was going on. When she first took off, I'd assumed she had simply changed her mind and wanted to keep her child. Then when I saw her at the door, my first thought was that she realized she couldn't manage with a baby and had decided to let us adopt the baby after all. But then she asked for the money. Alarm bells went off, but I still had no reason to think that it wasn't anything other than a bit of last minute extortion."

"So you paid the money?" Hotch asked.

"We felt used, and worried that Janine might come back for more, always holding the signing of the actual papers over our heads to keep bleeding us dry, but Diana already had Spencer in her arms and I knew she was never going to give him up. And I felt the same way." William Reid faced his son and what he said next was directly to - and _for_ - him alone: "I know you probably can't bring yourself to believe that, Spencer, but it's true. Right from that first second, you were my son. I've made so many mistakes - stupid, terrible, grievous mistakes - but to me, you were never, ever anything other than my child."

The younger Reid finally deigned to glance at this father. Rossi could see that for a moment he had softened - not forgiveness per se, let alone affection, but at least there was a momentarily lessening of resentment and rage. However, Reid was apparently not quite ready to talk.

His father accepted this and continued with his story. "I arranged for the money the next morning. It took quite some doing, but I managed it. Later that day, Janine left Spencer with us and, contrary to my expectations, we never saw her again. The adoption papers went through without a hitch, and trust me, I checked a hundred times for any loop-hole that might have allowed her to come back and threaten us with taking away our son. And so, that was that.

"At least, for awhile.

"Spencer was about eight when the letter came. It was from a nurse out in Phoenix. She said her patient had asked her to give me a message, but had only been able to tell her my work address. All her patient had told her to tell me was this: 'Tell him the boy wasn't mine.' "

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_Author's note: Thanks to everyone who read the last chapter, especially those who took the time to respond in some way. I can't believe I got so many follows for such a short little intro!_


	3. Chapter 3

_Warning: some language._

**Chapter Three**

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_'Tell him the boy wasn't mine.' _

The words resonated in David Rossi's head, clanging like a tremendous bell and vibrating his psyche to the point of breaking. Caught up in the melodrama currently eroding his young friend's life right before their very eyes, Rossi had almost forgotten under what pretext he himself had been called there. But now the implication of William Reid's words hit him like a bullet to the brain: sharp, devastating, and stunningly out of the blue.

His first reaction was rage.

Leaping to his feet, he slammed his fist against the table, causing both Reids and Ms. Hughes to flinch. _"You are,"_ he said to Ms. Hughes.

"I beg your pardon?"

" _'You are.'_ You asked me yesterday, 'I take it then that _you are_ the father of her son,' Not _'You were.'_ "

"I - "

"WHY AM I HERE?" Rossi demanded.

"Mr. Rossi, I'm getting to - "

"Save it! Tell me directly: why am I here, Reid?" Out of the corner of his eye, Rossi could see Spencer looking at him with dazed confusion, thinking he was speaking to him, but it was the older Reid David wanted answers from. "You've said only one goddamned thing that makes any sense today," he shouted, holding up a finger, "and that was that you should have told your son all of this in private. So I'll ask again, why am I here? What possible connection do I have to all of this?"

William Reid met his gaze. "I think you've already guessed that, Mr. Rossi."

"YOU SON OF A BITCH!" Dave roared and was nearly half way around the table before Aaron managed to grab him by the arm and drag him back towards his seat. "How DARE you use my son's death in this farce, this...whatever the hell this is!"

"Your son?" Spencer asked, looking from Rossi to Hotch to his father. Enraged, Rossi nearly lashed out at him as well, irrationally believing he must have something to do with it. Logic thankfully overrode his fury before he could say anything he would regret, but it was a close thing.

_"Was he RIGHT?"_ Dave bellowed, still struggling against Aaron's hold on him. "Is this revenge for five years ago? What's the matter, you couldn't fool Agent Morgan into coming down here too? Maybe find some way to use his dead father against him?"

"What's going on?" Spencer asked the room at large. "What's Rossi talking about? What son?" He turned to glare accusingly at his father. "And exactly what hoax did you use to get him here?"

"Gentlemen, if you would please calm yourselves," Ms. Hughes requested, holding up both hands in a placating fashion. "All will be explained."

"Don't give me that!" Rossi snapped, pointing a finger at her. "I know where you're trying to go with this and I'm not going to buy it!" Hotch yanked him away from the table. "Don't start with me, Aaron. I'm not going to put up with this! What kind of bastard would use the death of someone's child for petty revenge?"

Hotch pulled Rossi to the far corner of the room and stepped deftly between him and the others. "Dave, I think you should listen," he told him softly.

"You can't be serious!"

"Do you trust me as a profiler?"

"What?"

"Do you trust me as a profiler?" Hotch repeated.

"You know I do."

"Do you trust me as a friend?"

"Or course I do. Aaron, where are you going with all this?"

"Then trust me now, Dave: William Reid hasn't shown any signs of lying."

"Aaron - "

"I'm not saying he couldn't be. Hell, he's a lawyer - he's built a career on being persuasive in arguments - but you're... _distraught._ You have every reason to be, but that doesn't change the fact that the man has yet to display any physical sign of lying."

"I'm not listening to this," Rossi said and tried to move around Hotch, but Aaron stepped in front of him again, blocking his way.

"Dave, he's made eye contact the whole time. His body language is open, no contracting or pulling himself inwards to take up less physical space. His hands have been still and not unconsciously touching his face or throat. His emotional expressions have been normal and matched his verbal statements, and he's made no overt move to place objects between us and himself. None of those things are proof, no, but it does make me think we should hear him out."

"Like Hell!"

"Dave - just listen to the man's story. If it's a lie, let him hang himself."

"No, Aaron! I can't sit there calmly while they warp my son's memory and my grief for whatever the hell con they've got going."

Hotch looked at him. "And if it's true?"

"Aaron, _seriously?_ You're seriously telling me you're falling for this crap?"

"Dave, we don't even technically know what 'this crap' is yet."

"C'mon, Aaron - "

"I know it looks like, Dave, but for all we know, William Reid's only going to tell us the abduction happened at the same hospital, perhaps due to general negligence. The same - though not directly connected - negligence that might have lead to James's death."

"You don't really believe that."

"Maybe not, but think: if Reid is only doing this to hurt his son, then why the professions of love? Surely it would be worse to tell Spencer he was adopted and then rub salt in the wound by telling him that's why he deserted him and his mother, thereby confirming all of Reid's fears that he wasn't a good enough son. Any lawyer would know enough psychology to understand Reid's likely state of mind and use it against him, so why is William Reid expressing remorse?"

"I don't know. What, am I supposed to guess at the mental workings of a man who'd perpetuate a sick joke like this?"

"You do it every day as a profiler."

_"This is different,"_ Dave hissed. "And you know it! This is personal!"

"Which is why I'm asking you to trust my judgement on this. Dave, right now you're not only angry, you're frightened and you're not thinking straight."

"Frightened?"

"Frightened of reliving the pain of James's death. Of dwelling on that time in your life. Maybe even of hope."

"Frightened. Of _hope_."

" _'Hope in reality is the worst of all evils because it prolongs the torments of man.'_ "*

"Aaron, you know I love you, but you're talking out of your ass and you're beginning to piss me off."

"Hope is a double-edged sword, Dave. Because if what you hope for doesn't end up being true, then it can crush you even more."

Rossi digested Aaron's words for some moments, then nodded in Spencer's direction. "And if this...story... turns out to be true, what's it going to do to the kid? And the team, for that matter?"

Hotch sighed and glanced back at his younger colleague, who was staring at them with brow furrowed and mind obviously going a mile a minute. "I don't know," he confessed. "But it's better to build on truth than on ignorance."

Rossi nodded and reluctantly followed Hotch back to the table.

"William," Ms. Hughes said softly, "if you would continue..."

The elder Reid dipped his head in acknowledgement and began his tale once again. "As I said, the letter I received purported that Spencer was not Janine Rutherford's son.

"Truthfully, I didn't know what to make of it. I travelled to Phoenix in order to ensure the message had actually been from Janine in the first place. As far as I could ascertain, it was. Apart from that, however, I had no way of knowing whether it was true or just the delirious ravings of a woman in stage 4 cancer. Even if DNA tests had been more readily available at the time, Janine had been cremated and the hospital would not have given me any access to her records.

"But maybe that's just an excuse. For a year I did nothing. I most certainly didn't tell Diana. And I want to make this perfectly clear: she never knew anything about this. If she remembers at all that Spencer is adopted, she still thinks he's Janine's child. Her illness... Let me be blunt: if I'd told her, I wouldn't have just devastated her emotionally, I could have destroyed her mentally as well.

"And _I_ wanted Spencer. I wanted my family. Enough to say to Hell with some other couple's potential pain - he was ours! So for a year I spent every waking moment trying to push the possibilities to the back of my mind." William Reid paused and took a deep breath. Rossi saw the man clench his fists, digging his nails into his palms. When the elder Reid began again, tears were visibly glistening at the corner of his eyes. Dave was surprised when the man then turned to face him directly.

"But I knew, you see," he said. "I knew what it was like to lose a son, to wait all those months in anticipation, only to see him slip away after three short days, leaving a bleeding hole in your chest. I knew what it was like to see the woman you love so desperately shatter into a thousand pieces and be completely goddamn helpless to stop it.

"And so the guilt began to eat at me. It got to the point where I couldn't even look at my son without a war raging inside me. I wanted to clutch him to me and never let go, but at the same time, I saw another grieving family every time I looked into his face. Another family who was grieving because of _me_. One day I woke up and the first thought that popped into my head was, 'What if someone was keeping Christopher from us?'

"That was the day I left."

William Reid rose and walked over to stand in front of the window. Staring out at the city, he went on. "I won't claim it was just that. I've never been a strong man; I can admit it. Diana's illness, Riley Jenkins - it all played a part. But it was the guilt that finally drove me away.

"It's ironic, though. I thought I could alleviate some of that guilt, but instead I merely switched it for the guilt of knowing that what I was doing would eventually rip my family apart. What would happen to Diana? Taking Spencer from her, causing her to lose a second child, might have pushed her over the edge. And what about Spencer? We were the only parents he knew. What would happen to him if he was pulled away from us to live with what to him would be complete strangers?" William's voice was suddenly hoarse. "I nearly gave up so many, many times. I purposely hired a detective I knew wasn't up to the job. When he came back with nothing, I almost convinced myself I'd done enough and went home. Almost.

"Remorse is a powerful thing, though, isn't it. When I thought of going home, I worried that if I gave up without really trying to find the truth, eventually it would poison our family, breaking us just as irrevocably as the truth in the end. So I stayed away and kept searching. And I never returned home because I knew I would give up if I ever saw the faces of my wife and son even one more time."

William Reid sighed and sat back down at the table. "This is where Mr. Falco comes in," he said, gesturing to the thick-shouldered man who had to this point been silent. "He wasn't the first detective I hired, or even the second, but he's the one who finally tracked down the truth after all these years."

Mr. Falco nodded to the three profilers. "It was a long case, gentlemen. I myself started on it nearly four years ago, but there was little to build on. Firstly, we were severely hampered by the fact that the life story Miss Rutherford had given to Mr. Reid turned out to be a complete fabrication. Her real name, her family, even what state she was from - all fantasy. So we were basically working with nothing. Add to that there being far fewer national databases available when my predecessors started their search... and well, you get the picture. In any case, I won't bore you with the details of how we eventually tracked her down.

"The story is this: Janine Rutherford was actually Elizabeth Lindsey. She was originally from Manhattan, but had been living in Boston when she became involved with one Tom O'Shea, son of Dermot O'Shea."

"Wasn't he one of Ryan Mulroney's enforcers?" Hotch asked, recognizing the name of one of Boston's prominent crime families.

"The same," Falco confirmed. "Long story short, Tom O'Shea was roughing Janine - or Elizabeth - up pretty badly. She tried taking off different times, but the O'Sheas had a long reach. Finally she managed it, sneaking away right from the hospital where he'd put her after busting up her ribs one time too many. From what we can tell, she wandered from place to place for the next fourteen months, never staying anywhere long and picking up a variety of false identities as she went. Then she got a job at Mr. Reid's law firm. It was in Vegas that she apparently met the father of her child. We've never been able to definitively identify him, but it looks like he was out of the picture by the time she discovered she was pregnant. She might have moved on after that if the Reids' offer to take the child gave her an opportunity she wasn't expecting."

Here Mr. Falco opened the file that was sitting in front of him. "What she would have done had the child lived, I can't tell you. What I can say though, is that at the start of her eighth month, something must have made her suspect something was wrong and she travelled to Reno for tests. Unfortunately, the child had died in utero." With this, Falco passed a copy of Janine Rutherford's medical exam to Hotchner, who looked it over before passing it to Rossi. He then passed it on to Spencer, but the younger man waved it off, refusing to look.

"She remained in Vegas one more week. Possibly she might have stayed and told the Reids all, but then Tom O'Shea showed up at her old apartment. Her roommate told the police a man fitting his description had been nosing around, asking for "Elizabeth", a week before the Reids filed a missing persons report on Janine.

"Once we had the name Elizabeth Lindsey, we were able to track her family to Michigan, but then the trail ran cold again. Her father had died some years before and her mother had moved. Eventually though, we managed to catch up to the mother in Long Island." Falco sorted through the file, removed a photograph and pushed it across the table to Rossi. "Do you recognize this woman, Mr. Rossi?"

Rossi studied the picture, a sick feeling growing in his stomach. "She looks familiar, but I can't place her." _You can, you liar,_ a little voice at the back of his mind said. _She was there, with Father Robinson and Doctor Spinelli when..._

He pushed the picture back roughly. "No. I don't recognize her."

"Her name was - is - Brenda Fichman, but it had been Brenda Lindsey. She was Elizabeth's mother. She hadn't seen her daughter in seven years - there had been some kind of falling out between them. She likely never mentioned her mother to O'Shea, which is why - along with her mother's new name - I think Elizabeth felt it was safe to run to her when faced with having to give birth to a dead child while being hunted by a sociopath.

"Brenda arranged for her daughter to be admitted onto the ward under yet another false name - Amanda Buckley - so that no one would make the connection, and then we believe she switched her daughter's dead child for yours after hearing that an eager young couple had so wanted a child."

"But that doesn't make any sense," Hotch put in. "She couldn't have passed off a child who had been dead in the womb for a month as one that supposedly died overnight in the nursery."

"We never saw James after they said he was dead," Dave answered numbly. "That's how it was back then, especially at an old-fashioned Catholic Hospital. The nuns came and told us it was for the best, that we should remember James as he had been, not cold and... "

_The doctor, Father Robinson, Christ even his own mother, they'd all said the same. Still in bed, Carolyn was shrieking hysterically onto her mother's shoulder while the woman stroked her hair. His mother was crying against his chest, while he shook with sobs, weeping openly for the first time in his adult life, and his father held the both of them. And all the while everyone was keeping him from his son just when James needed him the most!_

_"It's for the best, Davy."_

_"You don't want to remember him like that, David."_

_"Please listen to them, Mr. Rossi."_

That bitch had stood there with his mother and father and a priest of God and told him not to see his own son! But instead of grief and compassion, it had been for the sole purpose of taking his child!

No, it couldn't be true. He looked at Reid, who was as still and rigid as if carved out of marble. Rossi didn't see James, as Carolyn had always called him. He didn't see "Jimmy", the growing boy he'd fantasized about through the years. He only saw Spencer Reid.

_That_ must be the truth. What else could it be? That Spencer was really James? Ridiculous!

Because that would mean he had failed his son.

**.**

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* Freidrich Nietzche

_Once again, I'd like to thank everyone for their reviews. I believe I responded to most of you, but I'd like to thank "S", "OhWell1960" and "cl" for your responses. _


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

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When Spencer Reid was four, almost five, his maternal grandfather passed away in Maine. Even with his eidetic memory, his visions of that time were fuzzy, but one clear picture of he and his parents driving through Illinois one night on their way home stood out.

It had been night time, the only lights coming from the dashboard and the pale yellow beams of the car's headlights, the only noise the radio and his mother's occasional sniffling, but he hadn't been afraid. (His fear of the dark would come years later.) Instead, he watched the moon outside follow them along, completely unconcerned in the way only small children can manage, and only when they are in that comfortably drowsy state of near sleep. But just as sympathetic worry for his mother threatened to pull him out of it, Spencer watched as his father took his right hand off the wheel and reached across to tenderly take his mother's left and then to his surprise, William started to sing to her, crooning along with the Fleetwoods as they sang "Mr. Blue" (a song that must have first come out when his parents were mere toddlers, if Spencer remembered correctly). Lulled by the soft strains of his father's voice, the little boy felt a warm swell of contentment and security, one so deep he didn't even quote to his father the accident statistics of drivers who drove with one hand. That night Spencer had drifted off to sleep with what, in an ideal world, should be the birthright of every child: the belief that he was snug and safe within the cozy embrace of a warm, loving family.

While that feeling was never so strong again, Spencer was able to believe in its basic truth for five more years. Then his father left and, along with all of the other things he blamed William Reid for, there was the fact that his leaving caused his son to question all of the happy memories he'd ever had of his family. Memories of his father watching Star Trek with him, or reading Isaac Asimov to him at bedtime; of his father and mother all dressed up and laughing and even dancing in the hallway just before they headed out to a Christmas party; of his father carrying him on his shoulders when he'd finally managed to knock the ball off the stand in T-Ball or laughing when he'd only taken eight minutes to find every Easter egg his grandma had hidden for him when he was three.

For years after, Spencer would lay awake at night, wondering if all those memories had been nothing but an act. Had all of his faith that he was a loved and wanted child been a mistake? He wasn't an oblivious child; he had seen very easily the growing tensions between his parents, that his mother's illness had been growing worse and his father's increasing inability to cope, but he has still thought that at least they had loved _him_. However, his father's departure changed all that. It left him doubting everything that had gone before, including the worth of his own judgment and even the stability of the world around him. "It had all been lies," he eventually concluded with his young black-and-white mind, "He must have done those things only because that's what people do. It was all obligation and show."

Lies. All of it lies.

And now his entire life was a lie.

Like Hotch, he'd been profiling his father as the man's tale unfolded (though not to the same degree, since for him, like for Rossi, this was personal). Nothing his father had done over the last hour indicated that he wasn't being truthful. And, as cruel as William Reid's actions had usually ended up being, he hadn't told that many outright lies to Spencer over the years. Prevaricated and hidden the truth, yes, but the things he did say usually turned out to be true in the end. But what did believing his father get him? His parents, where he was born, his date of birth - it meant they were all untrue. Even his name wasn't his: Spencer Reid was meant to be the name of Janine Rutherford's son, the boy presumably now buried in the grave his own colleague had provided, thinking it was his son he was laying to rest.

His entire identity was gone. Who was he now?

Caught up in his reflections, and still trying to absorb his shock at finding out he was adopted, he had lost track of the conversation around him and so flinched when suddenly there was a giant swab coming at his face.

Hotch pulled it back. "Reid? Are you all right?"

"What are you doing?"

"It was felt best to have a DNA test done before things went any further," Hotch explained. Then he looked at the others and nodded towards the door. The rest of the room understood things might go better if Hotch could talk to Reid privately and so they got up to leave without a word.

"Who's 'we'? And why not just use our records at the Bureau?" Reid demanded after they had all filed out, but the answer came to him as soon as he asked the question. "Oh. Because there might be a lawsuit..."

"A separate and more specialized DNA comparison would be better, and yes, keep the Bureau from becoming involved in any legal entanglements," Hotch said. Reid thought the older man looked regretful at having to go into lawyer mode when dealing with such a personal matter for two of his friends. "And," Hotch went on, "well, there are other considerations."

"Like what?" Reid asked.

"If you and Dave do turn out to be related, and the Bureau learns of it - "

"They'll kick one or both of us off the team," Reid realized. "Reassign us." Was he now going to lose his friends as well?

Hotch nodded.

It was a sign of Reid's brilliance that, even as parts of his mind reacted to the situation - felt rage, despair, confusion, loss - and his thinking process seemed bogged down to a near standstill by the sheer soap-opera unreality of the fact that the man he'd been working with for over six years (_six years, four months and twenty-five days,_ his mind corrected), he could still reason out the problems Hotch _wasn't_ saying. He looked at his Chief. "Won't that happen in any case? The team dynamic will be forever changed if we find out this is true. Can you really promise that we'll be able to function as a group even if our superiors don't find out?"

"I don't know," Hotch admitted. "But we can't even consider it until we know there's something to consider." He moved to put the swab in Reid's mouth again, but the younger man pulled back.

"I don't know if I want this," Reid said, the words out of his mouth before he could even think. "No, that's wrong. I know I don't want this." As long as it was hypothetical, his paternity was like Schroedinger's cat - either true or untrue, but - as long as the box wasn't opened - an unknown entity. And if was unknown, then he could convince himself it was unimportant.

"Your answer if perfectly fair and understandable - "

"But you're going to ask me to do it anyway," Reid snapped.

Hotch sighed. "Yes, I am."

"Why, Hotch? Why should I? I'm thirty-two years old, and I've gone without a father for the last twenty-two of those. Why do I need to find out who my father is? It's not like I haven't been able to make perfectly do without one. What do you think is going to happen here? That I'll suddenly be happy at having a Dad to tuck me in at night or teach me to throw a football or take me fishing? Well, I'm too old for bedtime, I hate football and the smell of fish causes flashbacks to Tobias Hankle! Apart from that, I am fully able to support myself and my mother; I don't need help from anyone."

Hotch ignored this tirade and decided to try a different tack. "Reid... _Spencer._.. You've always been the one most eager for the truth. It's a driving force within you. You got mad at J.J., Emily and me for lying to you. You confronted your father over the Riley Jenkins case, even in the face of the idea that he might have turned out to be a murderer and child molester. Why are you running from seeking the truth now?"

Reid leapt to his feet, wrapped his arms around himself and began to pace. "Those instances were different, Hotch. Your lie hurt me by making me mourn for a woman I love like sister. Riley Jenkins..." Reid sighed heavily and looked away, "Most of it was the nightmares. I believed they wouldn't go away until I found out what really happened, but there was also... I hate to say it, but I think I wanted to discover my father was a murderer so I could feel justified in hating him. As much as it might have hurt, there would have been a bitter satisfaction to it too."

"But this secret only hurts you, and only if you find out, is that it?"

"It's just too much at once!" Reid moaned. "I just lost one identity and before I can blink, everyone is trying to shove me into a new one. I feel like I'm standing on quicksand!"

"I understand," Hotch said softly. "But the problem is this secret _doesn't_ hurt only you. You need to understand how Rossi feels. He's spent the last thirty-two years grieving for a son he thought he lost before the child was even a day old, and now he finds out that the boy might be alive after all. Reid, can you really let that question go unanswered for him?"

Reid dropped his head. A hoarse "No" was all he said.

"So you'll take the test? For Dave's sake?"

Reid nodded. There was a tiny prick of resentment at feeling Hotch was working more in Rossi's interest since he and Dave were closer, but logically and morally Reid knew there was no other decision he could make.

"There is another thing, Reid," Aaron said.

Reid raised his head and frowned a little at not immediately seeing what Hotch was talking about.

"If Dave and Carolyn are your biological parents, that has profound implications as to your medical history."

_The schizophrenia. He's talking about the schizophrenia. _

Reid had once recorded a message for his mother saying, "I spend every day of my life proud to be your son." That night, after the test, after Hotch had dropped him off at his apartment, and after failing seventeen times to write his daily letter to his mother, he wept in his sleep that, for thirty seconds, what he'd really felt was a surge of excitement and relief at the idea of not being her child.

_-x-_

Rossi too wept. But for him, it was because of a picture.

He had simmered in the front passenger seat of Aaron's car all the way home, steadily ignoring the silent Reid in the back seat. When they had let Spencer out, he had not said goodbye or even looked at the younger man.

_It must be a mistake,_ he told himself later while sitting in his den with his fifth glass of Scotch. _Things like this only happen in bad melodramas. And even if Jimmy had lived, what were the odds we'd know each other? Jesus, the kid doesn't even look like me!_

_But he does look like Carolyn,_ came a voice from the back of his mind, causing Rossi to suddenly freeze.

_Similar colouring_, nothing more, he argued with himself and poured another glass.

_The same colouring, the same shape to the eyes, the same propensity to develop dark circles under those eyes when tired or sick, the same wave to the hair, the same ever-so-slight cleft to the chin..._ the voice said, playing devil's advocate.

_Bullshit,_ Dave protested.

_Remember what Russell said? The spitting image of my father?_

Dave's heart skipped a beat. Shakily, he went over to the phone and dialled Russell's number. "Russ? Hi, it's Dave. Look Russ, this is going to sound like a weird thing to ask, but can you email me a photo of your Dad as a young man? Say him around twenty-five to thirty-five?"

"Sure, I guess," a plainly confused Russell said. "Can I ask why?"

"I don't want to say in case it's nothing, but if it turns out to be true, I'll tell you everything."

"Okay. Give me a few minutes though - I've never been that good at using the scanner."

Dave turned on his computer and waited and agonizing half hour for the ding to let him know he had mail, drinking and cursing his brother-in-law's ineptitude with technology the whole time.

Suddenly it was there. He opened the attachment.

And then he slapped a hand over his mouth to stop a sob as tears began to fall from his eyes. The answer was right there: the same eyes, the same lanky build, the same jaw line. Looking at a picture of James Matheson in his dress Army Captain's uniform circa 1945 was like looking at a mirror image of Spencer Reid. There was no denying it - the man couldn't be anything other than Carolyn's son.

_His_ son.

_._

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_Author's note: Sorry for the delay. I wanted to have this up much earlier, but I've developed an inflamed ligament at the top of my left leg which makes sitting for any length of time incredibly painful, so obviously that slowed the writing down. It's also why I have yet to respond to all the wonderful reviews I got for the last chapter. I hope to get around to it, but if I don't, I just want to tell you all how grateful I am. _

_Anyway, hoped you enjoyed this chapter!_


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